


In my Absence

by Lacertae



Series: Equilibrium [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gift Giving, Introspection, M/M, Slice of Life, Team as Family, Warm, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wooing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta* Fourth part in the 'Equilibrium' saga, sequel to 'Artificial'.Though their respective positions keep Zenyatta and Akande separate, that does not make them unable to contact one another. Akande made a promise, after all, and he intends to keep it.
Relationships: Athena & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu & Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Genji Shimada & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jesse McCree & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Lena "Tracer" Oxton & Tekhartha Zenyatta, Lúcio Correia dos Santos & Tekhartha Zenyatta
Series: Equilibrium [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/808467
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a set of four short chapters that are focused on Zenyatta's growing friendship with his team, but also, mainly, about his thirsting over akande. haha
> 
> chapters will probably be posted one a week or something to space them out but also probably less days than that, considering i feel like the zen fandom transmigrated so... IF THERE'S ANYONE OUT THERE STILL READING THIS, HIT ME UP
> 
> it's probably kind of. very soft? because of interactions and stuff? but i am doing this saga in a very self indulgent way so i have to add wholesome interactions ok? :D (there's a lot of stuff coming up so i think this is warranted...)
> 
> i meant for part 4 to be this plus their date, but it grew on itself, and their second date will be also a long piece SO.

**01**

Compared to Zenyatta’s first arrival to the Overwatch headquarters with Genji, Watchpoint: Gibraltar was not as empty anymore.

During the earlier days after the recall, the base had been mostly abandoned and cluttered; rooms were filled with forgotten documents and half-filled paperwork, detailing missions and referencing people who were not part of the organization anymore. Everything was covered in dust, and much to Winston’s displeasure many of the areas had been taken over by cockroaches, ants and other invasive animal colonies, including mice and a rather aggressive hornet’s nest. The machines, the computers, the training bots, the equipment… everything that had been left behind, once top quality in the market, was now old and outdated –at least the ones still working.

Even with Lena visiting every now and then with her girlfriend Emily, Winston could not manage to keep a place meant to host hundreds in shape by himself, despite having Athena’s help along the way.

It had been hard.

After the recall, when some of the older agents had accepted to come back –a few reluctantly, others with a little less hesitation– and things had started to look up for Overwatch, Zenyatta had watched the base slowly change, had _helped_ make those changes himself, working side by side with old and new agents to make it a liveable place once again.

Now their headquarters were… if not flourishing, at least they were in a much better state, and with the trickle of support they had gained little by little through hard work and intel, it felt like they were less doomed than they had been at the start.

The base was not empty anymore –and Zenyatta, returning from one of his short missions, could honestly say it felt like it was becoming as good a home as it could ever be, and through hard work, it had also started to stand on its own.

Through meetings that had taken Winston weeks to set up, Helix Security International had accepted to devote a decent amount of funding towards Overwatch, not as much trusting them on their past work, but rather on the connection established between Fareeha Amari, a lieutenant in their forces, and Angela Ziegler, who had been part both of Overwatch of the past and the new, improved version. The help was entirely conditional –Winston and Angela both were perfectly aware of that– but it suited them just fine, and the support helped Overwatch pull through in more than just a few joint missions, no matter how small.

The conditional part was, of course, what kept Helix from openly supporting Overwatch with the authorities and the UN –with the disastrous background it carried, a shadow that would not get dispelled anytime soon, the UN had yet to give them the authorizations necessary to legally present as a sanctioned organization, and without that, Overwatch still was no better than a group of vigilantes.

Still, compared to the first turbulent few months, Overwatch now had a good chance to raise back to its former glory and face the criticism to show they had changed for good.

Though… truly, Zenyatta knew they were not yet out of danger.

For as many trainees that Helix sent them, they were still far too few. The lack of legal authorizations was a heavy worry for them, and many agents were reluctant to act, tied by the restrictions Overwatch still had.

Many missions were barely legal, not sanctioned nor supported, and it meant every problem, every property damage, every bump in the road or injury were to be dealt with personally, with no outside help.

They lacked the funds, the support and the backing they needed to become Overwatch once again, and with enemies like Talon, that mattered. It mattered a lot.

Momentarily distracted by his stray thoughts, Zenyatta barely noticed when he passed by the training grounds on his way back to the living quarters area, and thus did not see the way some of the trainees stopped to watch him walk by, eyes following him.

Zenyatta was not unaware of their curiosity, but he had yet to understand if it was positive or not.

Omnics were not common in organizations like Helix or Overwatch, and though Zenyatta was not the only one in Overwatch –Echo had arrived even before he did, though it had taken them quite a while to properly meet and greet one another– he was still enough of an oddity for people to be intrigued by him.

Part of it was his attire –no shirt, chassis covered in scuffs and scrapes, his sash tattered, the remains of his old garments tied around his waist, his exposed circuitry that betrayed his origins as a Shambali monk– and part of it was the fact that most of those agents had participated in at least one training session with him, allowing them to see him in action.

Even if they did not know what to think of him, he knew that they trusted his abilities.

After more and more trainees had started to pour in, Winston had split the living quarters in two areas –the building closer to the training grounds hosted the closer-knit group, with Genji, Jesse and Zenyatta among them, while the other building to the side was for the rest of the agents. Most of them returned home at the end of their shifts, but some had to stay overnight, and used smaller, temporary rooms.

The main building had enough cleaned-up space that it could host at least twice as many people as it currently did, and Zenyatta’s quarters were at the end of the corridor, near a window and the emergency staircase. It was as much his room as it was Genji’s, considering how often the two shared spaces, so used to it during their travels together, and he’d managed to set it up with a few of his personal possessions, making it more ‘his’.

As he approached his room, Zenyatta found a small, unassuming package waiting for him in front of the door.

For a few seconds, he observed the parcel, optics zooming on it.

“Athena?”

“Yes, Zenyatta?” promptly answering his query, Athena’s logo flickered on one of the cameras installed in the corridor near his room.

“There is a package in front of my door.”

“It arrived this morning, while you were still out,” was the helpful answer. “Were you not expecting anything?” then, after a pause, “I scanned it for possible dangers as I normally do, but it is perfectly safe.”

With a nod of thanks, Zenyatta knelt to pick up the parcel. It was not heavy at all, nor was it big –the size of a book, perhaps, and by its weight and light give, he was positive it was one.

“I suppose what I was not expecting found its way to me, anyway,” he murmured, more to himself than to Athena, but he still heard her quiet giggle as she returned her attention to other things.

He’d left in a hurry for his last mission, leaving his holo-tablet on the table, so he gently pushed it to the side as he sat down, unwrapping the parcel with no hurry to reveal that it was, in fact, a book.

“Hmmm.”

The book was… unexpectedly old –not something purchased from a store, at least not one that sold new prints. There were wrinkles on its cover, a scuff in the upper corner, pages probably a little more yellow than they were originally meant to be, and it seemed well-used. The image on the cover was that of a planet’s surface as seen from the space, a few stars twinkling in the dark background, and the top of a star-ship peeking from the left corner.

A sci-fi book, written in English, the title proudly declaring it to be a collection of stories from various authors, and though he was as confused about the book as ever, he felt a little thrill at the thought that he had yet to read this particular one.

He was a bit of a hoarder of books, and he liked to read most subjects, but he always had a preference for science fiction, especially the kind that humans liked to write centuries in the past, so he had his own small collection… though now it counted a sizeable amount of physical volumes and thrice as many e-books.

On the first page, Zenyatta found two signatures under the title, both belonging to two of the writers in the collection.

A signed edition, then –and a rather old one at that.

The package did not contain any message about the sender, so Zenyatta flipped through a few more pages, checking the list of stories, and was surprised to find a post-it nested between the pages of the first story of the collection.

 _‘This was one of the books I favoured when I was young,’_ the message said in a familiar, sharp writing. _‘I have always looked at the stars with hunger, though I never did believe I would find space gorillas, while looking up.’_

There was no signature, but the words sent a flare of amusement and fondness through Zenyatta’s circuits as he knew, now, who had sent the book.

The mystery unveiled itself then.

 _Akande_ had sent him this book –one that had belonged to him, once.

Akande Ogundimu, known better as Doomfist, successor of the man who had before him wielded the same weapon, Akinjide Adeyemi, was… an enigma, for Zenyatta.

The man who had been a martial artist once, before his career had been cut short by the loss of his arm, and who had since then devoted his life to an organization seeking to control the world behind the scenes, was also the same cultured man who had kidnapped Zenyatta, intrigued by him and his powers, the same man who had sought him out time and time again, the man who had asked, then, if he could court him…

The man who held most of Zenyatta’s attention, even now.

Unexpected as it was, Akande’s gift was not unwelcome at all.

 _‘You wished to know more of me,’_ was the last line on the post-it, and Zenyatta could picture in the back of his mind what Akande’s reaction would have been if he had been there with him. His pleased smirk, the sharp, focused stare. _‘I hope this gift will allow you a head start.’_

It was a simple message, teasing yet revealing, something he might not have expected to receive from Akande, someone he’d always considered private and reserved –as Zenyatta himself was.

This was the man who had built himself an empire, who had turned his back to legality long before Zenyatta had even been created, who always stood alone… and Zenyatta now owned a piece of his past, little as it was, yet full of meaning.

A single piece of a puzzle, truly, with so many more still missing…

Zenyatta delicately placed the message back between the pages of the book and closed it, resting one hand on top of its cover, surprised at the intensity of the warmth he felt in his core.

Weeks had passed since he’d seen Akande last. It had been their first date, spent at a theatre, and he still remembered Akande’s promise to work on a way to make their next date memorable. The way he’d looked at Zenyatta with fiery determination, the way he’d touched him, kissed him…

They had been attracted to one another like magnets, unable to look away, and it had felt overwhelming –Zenyatta still found himself stumbling as he attempted to chase that man, in a way that was both humbling and frightening.

Zenyatta’s desire for Akande was only second to his need to know more about the man himself, rather than the façade he had as the successor of the Scourge of Numbani –a thirst that he could never seem to soothe.

He could find only so much, seeking information online, scouring websites for something that could open the door of Akande’s mind to him, but the information was limited, and all Zenyatta wished was to hear it from Akande’s own mouth instead. This gift –this book… it was Akande following through with his promise, allowing Zenyatta a glimpse of him through something he cared for.

And not just any copy, but the one Akande owned, a signed book probably cherished by the kid Akande had once been, and now it rested in Zenyatta’s hands, gifted to him as a show of goodwill.

Zenyatta’s core stuttered, warmth blossoming within it, strong enough it hummed through him, a single hum of golden light flickering within the depths of his chassis, a physical ache pressing into him, squeezing.

He exhaled an artificial breath, forehead array flaring at the strong, sudden desire to stand up and leave the base, seek Akande out, the need to see him almost overpowering.

There was no chance he could find Akande, he knew that well enough –where he was, what he was doing… he had no idea, and that thought _hurt_ … so sharply that Zenyatta was taken aback by the icy sensation.

It was loss, he realised, even as his fingers shook on top of the book cover –he had no way to find Akande, the distance between them echoing like a gaping hole, and it _hurt_.

The only other person Zenyatta had felt so strongly for had been Mondatta, and even that fierce emotion had been shattered with his death, returning to him at different times, like a fresh reminder of his loss… but to feel it for a person who was still alive was new, and confusing, and… troubling.

Hands still shaking, Zenyatta hummed deep in his synth.

The sound vibrated through his chassis, and in answer his mala chimed and rushed to surround him, circling around him in a familiar sway; he allowed their music to settle his soul again, rooting him back in one place, guiding himself through his emotions as he felt them fully, accepting the desire until he could control it, until he could trust himself not to suddenly jump to his feet and _run_.

Seconds ticked by, until finally, _finally_ , Zenyatta felt the intensity abate, like a receding tide.

With a glance towards his mala as he sent all eight of them back to his bed, Zenyatta sighed, fingers idly caressing the spine of the book. He’d left one of them with Akande, and though they could not see one another, he had to wonder…

Did Akande feel the same sort of agitation, of loss, did having Zenyatta’s orb with him make him feel even a fraction of the longing Zenyatta felt now, while holding the book in his hands?

He had no answers –only a selfish hope.

Zenyatta focused on that hope, on the flames it stoked within, the anticipation he felt at the thought, and found himself giddy all over again, until he coaxed that feeling close to himself and pushed it down.

It took him a moment, fingers tapping a tuneless rhythm on the book cover, anticipating as much as fearing what he would find, but in the end, he opened it once again, leafing through the first few pages, brushing past the post-it to look at the first story.

He’d had no intentions to read –he’d planned on seeing Winston first after dropping his small satchel in his room, to discuss his latest mission and write a report… yet he ended up forgetting all about his intentions, focused on the connection he wished so much to strengthen.

The book was old –the print dated back to before omnics were even created, in the earliest decade of the millennium– and the first story had elements about space that were entirely fictive, yet as he read through, he found himself immersed in the book, the clumsy attempts to describe robots and colonies on planets other than Earth amusing and entertaining.

A window to the past, from which to peek through.

It was weird to realise he shared something in common with Akande –a love for science fiction– but pleasant at the same time.

Back at the monastery, he’d read as many books as he could of that genre, no matter the printing period. It was… fascinating, especially the older ones that had been written decades, if not centuries before the creation of omnics, before Lunar Colony was built, some even before man had stepped on the moon. Those spoke of a different time, when all humans knew about space was what they could observe without touching, in awe at all the possibilities, exploring and creating.

A time when there was a different mindset towards robots, be it fear or eagerness, and Zenyatta could not get enough of those stories, seeking to reach through the past for a connection, to that sparkle that had been the first attempt of humans to see a future that was more than just for humanity alone.

He took his time reading the first novel, and once he finished it –a short, action-filled one of cooperation and mutual aid in space– he was surprised to see another folded post-it left for him by Akande.

 _‘When I was little’_ it read, _‘I had no idea how acquainted I would become with a being made of steel and chrome. All I knew were these stories, made up by humans like me, of either hope or horror.’_

Zenyatta paused at that thought.

Akande was, as he knew, older than himself. But he’d not thought, even with that knowledge, what it _meant_ for him. A young Akande had lived in a world where omnics did not exist yet. Surrounded by what-ifs and fantastic, fake stories about robot races, he’d not thought he would one day interact with one himself. And now…

The thought was amusing, in a way.

_‘I have to admit, the reality of it is far more appealing.’_

Core stuttering at the last line of the message, Zenyatta chuckled to himself, the sound almost startling in the silence of the room.

It was only then Zenyatta realised his fans had kicked in, the noise until then a background hum.

Embarrassed at his reaction, forehead array burning, he flipped through the rest of the book, not wishing to read it all in one sitting, and saw a few more messages folded between the pages.

The itch to read them all tickled him, but Zenyatta admonished himself for his lack of patience, aware that they’d mean more if he took his time to reach them one by one.

The book was well-read, and it fell open around the middle, revealing yet another surprise –a pressed flower, frail but not old enough to have lasted as many decades as the book had.

Carefully holding the flower between his fingers, Zenyatta lifted it to his faceplate, olfactive receptors catching an almost-faded smell from its dried up petals, the bright yellow colour vivid against the white and black of the book.

He’d never seen that flower before, but Zenyatta hesitated in searching through his online database, feeling almost as if he would cheat by doing so.

Instead, he gently put the flower between the pages once again and closed the book.

He felt… jittery, a sudden jolt of energy like static in his circuits, giddy in a way he couldn’t explain, made so simply by the bubbling joy he felt at the small gift, and even more so by the messages Akande had left for him to find in the book.

“Zenyatta?”

Athena’s voice startled him enough he straightened instantly, core spinning faster.

“Ah? Yes, Athena? Is there a problem?”

“I understood you wished to see Winston right away for the mission report?” her voice was not chiding –in fact she was rather amused, and Zenyatta stuttered at the reminder, suddenly realising he’d been sitting in his quarters for over an hour.

“Forgive me, I lost myself in this story.”

There were no names in the book, no way to tie it to Akande –yet he felt wary to leave it out where others, like Genji, could find it if they entered in his room; though he rarely used the bed, he had a bedside drawer, and he slid it open to put the book in there, satisfied only when it was hidden out of sight… though not out of thought.

“It would not be the first time,” Athena hummed, sounding pleased. “Give you a good story and you wouldn’t eve notice getting pickpocketed! It’s nice to see you are not above mere distractions, Master Zenyatta.”

“I am fallible, Athena, as any other being, human or not. A book is all the distraction I need.”

Her chuckle was as cheerful as ever, and Zenyatta found himself laughing along.

The displeasure at having to postpone his reading battled with his embarrassment, aware that he had been ensnared more by who had sent him the book than the book itself, no matter how pleasing it was to find new stories to read, but he pushed it all down and left his quarters, determined to write his report and not allow his every thought to centre on the book and its sender.

Still, the thought of Akande’s gift accompanied him all the way to Winston’s office, the heartfelt gift a secret warmth that pooled into his circuits like a sweet ache.


	2. Chapter 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what i dislike is that if you type 'lucio' in the character selection it doesn't immediately give u the right thing but like. i don't have that accented u specifically i only got the other one (ù). ao3 tag wranglers hear my plea! merge! let me find Lúcio while typing Lucio!
> 
> now uh as for the second chapter. there's Lúcio in this one lol

**02**

The hangar was grey against the blue sky, polished metal almost glinting under the sun, when the small jet hovering above it started its descent through the opened dome.

Waiting inside the hangar, hands clasped on his lap, Zenyatta observed the pilot expertly land on the ground, driving the plane to its dock area without problems.

A few seconds later, the door of the jet opened with a hiss, a retractable ladder unrolling out, and a familiar head full of dreadlocks popped out from the opening, glancing around before his eyes locked on Zenyatta, and the neutral expression melted into a happy smile.

Standing up, Zenyatta walked towards the jet. “Welcome back, Lúcio.”

Dressed in comfortable clothes in shades of grey and green, Lúcio Correia dos Santos, DJ sensation and lowkey freedom fighter, jumped off the jet and offered Zenyatta a thumbs up, grinning at him with his bag slung over his shoulder, casual and carefree.

He looked exactly the same as he’d been the last time Zenyatta had seen him, confident and poised, the kind of person who made everyone feel more relaxed simply by being around him.

“You don’t _know_ how good it is to be back, my friend! It feels like it’s been fo-re-ver!”

Zenyatta chuckled at that, orbs bobbing up and down as they orbited around his neck. Lúcio was a positive charge, and he brightened any room with his bubbly personality, and since the two had met during one of Overwatch missions, they had started to bond, their friendship growing like a blossoming flower.

They couldn’t spend as much time together due to Lúcio’s job, which kept him from joining overwatch full time, but Zenyatta always enjoyed whenever he returned to spend some time at the base, and looked forwards to those times.

A moment later, Zenyatta tilted his head to the side and took a proper look at his friend, optical receptors zooming on him, noticing the way he shifted, almost as if weighed down, his sensors reaching out to run health diagnostics.

Lúcio had been on a tour for the past two weeks –a short one, but as full as he could make it; he had performed seven times, and rather than take some days to rest afterwards he had opted to return to Gibraltar instead.

He looked… tired; the bags under his eyes were only barely hidden, shoulders slumped a little, grin wide and bright to hide his fatigue. He could have rested, his presence not strictly essential, but there was a cloud of guilt surrounding him which Zenyatta’s senses picked up instantly; he understood the reasoning for this choice –Lúcio had confided in him before how he felt that overwatch’s mission was more important at the present time than his DJ job, even if he loved it. It was probable that he felt bad for not doing as much as he could to aid them.

It was clear Lúcio hoped his presence could be of help, and Zenyatta knew that just like him, Lúcio was aware of how much work they still had to do to make Overwatch into a proper organization.

“Lúcio,” he spoke up, watching his friend turn towards him, “Forgive me, but… you seem rather _tired_.”

“Ah… haha, yeah, well. I came here right away after the last concert, y’know?” Lúcio shrugged. “No time to waste when you’ve got so many things to do! Can’t stop won’t stop!”

Zenyatta remained quiet, simply watching him, waiting, and Lúcio started to fidget a bit, scratching his chin with one finger.

“Uh… Zen?”

“You should not allow this new obligation to trump everything else,” he finally murmured, and Lúcio stiffened minutely, the grin tight on the edges. “I am aware you wish to be here and help us despite how you might end under scrutiny due to Overwatch still acting outside of law boundaries, but…” he stopped and stepped forwards, optical receptors burning a bright teal, “this does not mean your health isn’t important.”

“I’ll have time to rest now,” Lúcio shrugged easily, but the crease on his eyebrows was telling, and his next words were a lie. “I wouldn’t ask Winston my man to give me a mission right away.”

“Then you could have returned home first, taken a few days off.” Chiding, but with gentleness.

“Nah,” Lúcio bumped shoulders with him, attempting to be casual, “home’s full of peeps I wouldn’t want to disappoint, and I’d have to do a lot of other stuff. It’d be nice, but… not resting.”

Zenyatta exhaled an artificial breath. “I see.”

For a moment, Lúcio hesitated, biting on his lower lip, then he squared his shoulders. “Don’t ya worry for me Zen, I’ll take today off to rest. Wouldn’t want to fall asleep on a mission, yeah?” with a warm smile he nudged him again with his elbow, and Zenyatta chuckled.

“Alright. I will take your word for it.”

Still, as the two started to walk out of the hangar, Zenyatta couldn’t help but hesitate. They had talked about it more than once, but…

“How were your concerts?” he asked.

Lúcio yawned, more open than he would be if there were other agents around. “Guess it went great, I know my agent’s been screaming about it so I trust him. New album and whatnot, yeah?”

Zenyatta lifted one hand, and one of the mala circling his shoulders rose, directed to Lúcio’s head. A soft, warm glow grew from within it, gently latching itself to Lúcio, and Zenyatta watched as the crease in his brow lessened, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Man, one day you’ll have to teach me how you do it.” He winked, gratefulness clear in the way his lips curled up in a far more genuine smile. “Some people say my music is good for the soul, but this is something else!”

“Your music truly is good for the soul,” Zenyatta agreed, linking his fingers together in front of his chest. “It is why your concerts are so important.”

A huff was his answer. “Yeah, I know. It’s why I do what I do, but, like… I want to do more than that. I want to help things move. I I want to act _bigger_. I’m here because of that.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed in a smile. “Indeed. I am here for the same reason. It is why my assignment for today is to make sure you rest.” Then, with a cheeky intonation, Zenyatta tilted his head to the side to convey teasing. “Unless you wish for me to leak an image of you with eyebags and looking half dead. It would sell well, I think–”

Lúcio’s cheerful morphed into a horrified one. “You _wouldn’t_ –”

Pretending to think about it, Zenyatta rubbed his mouthpiece with his fingers before giving in, laughing out loud. “I would not, I jest, but not for the reason you think.” At Lúcio’s confused noise, he offered him a forehead array smile. “Why, your fans would join me into making sure you do rest, wouldn’t they? Because they do care about you.”

A flush dusted Lúcio’s cheeks and he hunched his head into his shoulders, embarrassed but pleased at the same time. “Haha, yeah. Not to mention the people back home would hit me if I didn’t take care of myself. I promised them I would.”

“Good.”

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence, less awkward, a little more relaxed, Lúcio humming under his breath one of his new tunes before he suddenly grinned. “You still have to come to one of my concerts, Zen.”

“Maybe for the next one I’ll take the day off.”

“I’ll hold you to it! Man, you’ll have a lot of fun, I promise! Oh, oh, you know what would be even more fun? If we did a collab!”

“I do not think my presence on the stage would be appreciated since they come to see you, Lúcio, but I will content myself with sitting among the fans. As you remember, I am one as well. Your music can enrapture omnics and humans alike.”

“Hehe, thank you!” rejuvenated by Zenyatta’s words and his mala, Lúcio waved his fingers in the air. “I just play what feels right _here_ ,” he thumped his chest twice. “That’s how you get successful.”

“And that is also how you reach out to others,” Zenyatta smiled gently, and reached out with his hand, placing it on top of Lúcio’s fist right over his heart. The contact remained only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to give strength to his next words. “That is not something that is easily done, and it takes a good soul to echo all the way around the world as you do.”

“Hey, when you say things like these, you go right for the heart,” Lúcio scratched his chin, senses alight with embarrassment and pleasure at Zenyatta’s words, and Zenyatta did not need to reach out to feel the determination bubbling right under the surface, a constant driving force. “But it makes me happy if I can even reach as far as the Shambali are.”

“My brothers and sisters have always found your music delightful –I am sure they still feel the same way now.”

Though Zenyatta had meant his words as further endorsement to Lúcio’s skills as a musician, he could see a tinge of sadness and regret flash past Lúcio’s face, and realised with a start that it was due to his casual words.

It was not a secret that Zenyatta’s relationship with the rest of the Shambali was… strained, no matter how much the thought made his core ache, but what seemed to be lost to others was that most of it was caused by Zenyatta himself, and his shame at having abandoned them right when they’d needed him the most.

Mondatta’s death… Zenyatta had not returned to the monastery even before then. He’d preferred to travel, learn and live separate from them, and though he had spoken with Mondatta in that time, he’d been his only contact. With Mondatta gone, and Zenyatta’s soul at unrest… he had not tried to talk, or even see, any of the others from the monastery.

As none of them had tried to reach out to him either, he thought his absence had been noted and not forgiven.

Yet… strained as it was, Zenyatta still shared something with them that went beyond words, and though he knew the distance was his fault, and he dreaded the thought of facing their disappointment in him for abandoning them, he also knew that he would have done the same thing, if given the choice to go back.

Zenyatta had long since accepted his own faults, and he would carry those on himself, without hiding behind lies –he felt guilt, but no regrets.

“Maybe one day, you will meet with them,” he said, brushing past the swell of melancholy he felt at the thought of the other Shambali. “They will surely be delighted to have you sign a poster for them.”

“Of course.” Lúcio smiled then, a softer grin from his usual boisterous ones, and nudged Zenyatta in the side. “But right now, I’m here. Plans for the day? I still want to sample your mala for some of my beats.”

“That would be fun,” he agreed, accepting Lúcio’s change of subject with gratitude. “As long as I won’t impose on your time with Hana and you take some time to rest.”

“Ah, she’s –she’s also back?” there was a dust of red on Lúcio’s cheeks, and he looked to the side, grin softening into something gentle. “Good. I mean, no! You wouldn’t be imposing, Zen! Though if you stick around you’ll just end up caught in one of Hana’s gaming challenges and… okay, no, wait, I’d love to watch you play videogames.”

Zenyatta’s laughter echoed with the soft chime of his mala circling wider around him, amusement bubbling to the surface of his synth, and Lúcio grinned, pleased.

“I admit I have never played any myself. The monastery was advanced, of course, but we had no videogames…” he paused for a beat “except for Pokémon, of course.”

The snort that left Lúcio’s mouth was as undignified as it was disbelieving. “Wait, you’ve got Pokémon?”

“Of course!” Zenyatta curled his fingers in front of his face, mock-serious and absolutely enjoying Lúcio’s surprise. “It was quite the hit.”

“… I really can’t believe that,” Lúcio sounded so shocked for something this small, but it was enough to send Zenyatta into another fit of chuckles. “Now you have to show me proof, Zen!”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed a darker teal as he leaned closer, tone teasing, “I called my Politoed Lúcio.”

“ _No way!_ ” Lúcio’s smile was so wide and pleased it was infectious, and Zenyatta watched him bounce on the balls of his feet. “Now I have to call one of my Pokémon like you! It’s only fair!”

They’d been so immersed in their conversation that neither had noticed reaching their living quarters area until they stopped in front of the building. Lúcio nudged Zenyatta again, pointing towards the window of his room. “Still want to hang out, Zen?”

“It would be my pleasure. I just need to stop by my quarters to retrieve my phone. Genji has been sent out on a mission, and he promised he’d text me.”

Lúcio nodded before they split up, Zenyatta going to the stairs and Lúcio towards the left corridor, as his room was on ground floor, the mala still glowing softly as it followed him. “See you in a bit!”

Humming quietly, Zenyatta made his way towards his quarters, only to falter mid-step when he noticed there was a small package in front of his door, which had not been there earlier.

He wasn’t expecting a package, so he instantly thought back about the last he had received –and who had sent it.

All thoughts faded to the back of his mind.

This new parcel was smaller than the one with the book had been, and Zenyatta approached it with growing trepidation.

It was… surprising to feel so much anticipation for a gift.

Akande had given him gifts before, like the clothes he’d offered Zenyatta during his time as a captive of Talon to replace his own ruined ones, or the attire Akande had asked him to wear during their first, official date, and there was even one he’d refused, twice –a taste of expensive omnic oil– but recently, Akande had sent him a gift with a different meaning, one Zenyatta coveted. A second-hand book, old and well-kept, of sci-fi stories that had once belonged to a much younger Akande, full of little messages that had been written for him to find.

Before that, he’d been doubtful about Akande’s taste and his understanding of what Zenyatta truly valued, but now…

Now, he thought, Akande seemed to _understand_ what Zenyatta wished from him, and that made this gift a new, fascinating incognita.

His core racing, Zenyatta picked the parcel up and held it in his hands, quickly moving into his quarters as he directed his mala towards the bed, dropping them down on the mattress with a casual flick of his wrist.

In his hands, the package rattled a little, and Zenyatta’s forehead array dimmed in a curious frown.

Sparing a glance towards his phone, noticing there were no missed calls, Zenyatta sat at the table, the anticipation reminiscent of the last time he had unwrapped Akande’s gift, and quickly opened the parcel, revealing… a layer of tightly wound bubble wrap. Surprised, Zenyatta took a little longer to open it, wondering why it had been used, and his forehead array blinked when inside the wrap he found a beautiful mahogany box, with a carved pattern on its edges, lacquered in red and gold.

Observing it for a few moments, Zenyatta took in the delicate carvings, one finger brushing against them, noticing a few imperfections here and there. He was no connoisseur, but the box seemed to be handmade… or at least hand-painted.

He opened it slowly, leaning forwards a bit, to reveal a set of gleaming red beads.

They were smooth and polished, tied together into a bracelet, each bead different from the others in shape, colour and size, yet the result did not look mismatched –the uneven set only made them appear more natural, complementing.

Gently, Zenyatta lifted the bracelet from the box, running a thumb down its side, admiring the marksmanship. It looked beautiful, and not cheap.

He toyed with the bracelet for a moment longer, finding a familiar, soothing pleasure in the way the beads rolled through his joints one by one, before finally noticing there were two envelopes in the small box as well.

Confident Akande had prepared an explanation for this unusual gift, he picked both envelopes up.

One was sealed with a nanite-infused stamp belonging to a famous notary firm. Considering his options, he opened that one first, only to realise it was an authenticity certificate, sealed and signed by the notary firm, testifying the bracelet to be made by original Iyun beads, originally belonging to one Akande Ogundimu.

Zenyatta had never heard of Iyun beads before, but he assumed they had to have a certain value, if Akande had shipped them with a certificate, but the confusion about the apparent expensive gift clouded his mind.

They were truly beautiful, but he hoped there would be an explanation to go with them, as he had no real need for expensive gifts.

He opened the second envelope, revealing a letter, its handwriting now familiar to him, and the mere sight sent a thrill down his frame. There was no signature again, though there was no need for one.

_‘My monk,’_ it started, and Zenyatta’s core flared a little, just because of that, _‘to know a person is to know their roots. My people’s traditions, my culture, my own roots… they have existed for millennia, and what this package contains is part of that. Iyun beads are a tradition among us, their material collected from the riverbed, shaped into beads and preserved from father to child, generation after generation, as our culture dictates. These beads have belonged to the Ogundimu family for close to three hundred years, with every generation adding a piece, as I did as a child to continue this tradition… and now, the piece I added to it is in your hands instead.’_

Zenyatta’s fingers shook, their grip on the letter crinkling the paper as he turned to look at the beads, speechless.

Expensive, yes –but not for the reasons Zenyatta had expected.

Auricular receptors buzzing, Zenyatta reached out again, fingers brushing against the bracelet, observing the gift with new understanding.

The beads clacked against one another softly as he inspected them again, unassuming in their simple, rough beauty.

He had no need for breath, yet he felt breathless, his core compressed in such a way it left him winded and burning from the inside.

Akande’s family had collected beads like these, year after year, decade after decade, keeping them safe before they’d ended up in Akande’s care, a memento of the past, of traditions and beliefs that had lasted for centuries in a link that seemed never-ending… and Akande had wished Zenyatta to be part of it through this gift.

Part of this tradition.

Still shaking, Zenyatta closed his optical receptors, overwhelmed by the ache in his chest.

He’d been so mistaken about the true, priceless value of this gift, but its magnitude was heavy on him, so heavy he curled on himself a little, fans spinning quickly.

He wondered, detachedly, whether Akande had any idea of what he’d offered to him –why it meant more to him than he could ever express with words.

As an omnic, he’d never had to look back to a past that reached out to him through time, connecting him to individuals who had been born and had died long ago. Omnics did not have traditions, or a past, and had to fight simply to have a present, let alone a future. Zenyatta’s own past began from the moment he had gained self-awareness, and though so many had started to make their own traditions, hoping for a future to share with others, they could do nothing about the past.

Artificial creatures could not build themselves a past.

It was, in part, what Zenyatta enjoyed about science fiction. There was no real past that omnics could own or reclaim, there were only stories that let him know humans had wished for them to exist for just as long. Some stories spoke of evil automatons, but there were just as many that reached out with friendly hands to intertwine human lives with those of robots, of omnics.

Humans had created stories full of wonder, imagining life that could be shared with other creatures, had thought about giving them free will and what that could mean, had feared yet yearned for that with every story that was written, every colourful, imagined fantasy they’d put black on white.

They’d given omnics a trace of a past, a mythology not unlike the ones they’d given themselves in their own history.

It was a little consolation, for beings who had been created and made and had only gained sentience and life and soul by utter chance… but it was still a tendril of _something_.

Omnics could study and learn about human traditions, but they could never claim them for themselves, not truly – yet Akande had offered him part of his _own_ , and that was…

Exhaling an artificial breath, Zenyatta smiled through his forehead array.

There was much he would need to research about this tradition, but it would have to wait –now, he could do nothing except wait for the sweet, heavy ache to lessen, fingers still running over the bracelet’s beads, over and over, their uneven shapes growing familiar to him.

“Zenyatta?”

Athena’s voice roused him from his trance, and he looked up, startled, hand clenched around the bracelet, convulsive protectiveness flaring through him. “Yes?”

“Did you not say you wished to spend some time with Lúcio?”

He almost dropped the bracelet, surprised that he’d completely forgotten about his prior commitment, chastising himself as it was not the first time it had happened.

The fact that he felt reluctant to step away from this gift was… not something he wished to address. Not yet.

Gently placing the bracelet back into its box and closing it, together with both envelopes, Zenyatta slid it into the drawer of his nightstand, right next to the book Akande had sent him. For a moment, he observed both gifts –so different, yet both of them pieces of the bigger puzzle that was Akande.

Offset, almost dizzy with the weight of his own emotions, Zenyatta felt a keen sense of misplacement, wishing to walk two different paths, both precarious and uneven.

“Please, let Lúcio know I am on my way.”

Perhaps, time spent with a friend would allow him to distance himself from the pleasant heaviness in his chest, and regain his balance.

He left the room with unhurried steps, still lightheaded with thoughts too fast for him to grasp, closing the door behind his back, and went to join his friend instead.

That evening Zenyatta sat on his bed in silence, mala quiet by his side, the bracelet tightly clasped in one of his hands as he meditated, fingers rubbing gently against the red, smooth beads, Akande’s face a burning memory in his mind, and Harmony flared particularly bright from within him, a scorching heat of molten gold that chased away the darkness of the night.


End file.
